


My dear

by ShariDeschain



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Love Letters, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShariDeschain/pseuds/ShariDeschain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“My dear Joan”</i>, she reads, then she closes her eyes and refuses to read further. Nothing good will come from this letter, that's for sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My dear

She returns home after her daily morning run just to find the letter waiting for her on the kitchen counter, among the usual bills and a handful of junkie mails from some kind of online cooperative that _“sincerely wish to help you quit smoking in five easy steps!”_ — and Joan strongly suspects that this is just Sherlock's sneaky way to remind her that she has yet to read his tobacco monographs.

It takes her less than two seconds to recognize the handwriting on the back of the letter, and more than ten minutes to decide what to do with it. Surely Sherlock must have seen it already, and Joan really can't imagine what he'd thought of it ― especially since she doesn't even know what to think of it herself.

So she leaves the unopened envelope on the table, and just stares at it while she makes tea. After a while, though, it begins to feel like the letter stares back at her, and that's really ridiculous, and Joan refuses to be intimidate by _her_ , let alone _her letters_. So she sighs and then she takes it in her hands and opens it.

 _“My dear Joan”_ , she reads, then she closes her eyes and refuses to read further. Nothing good will come from this letter, that's for sure. 

And yet, she's curious. 

_“Modesty, I think, is a commodity that most of the women, nowadays, like to use as an old fashion weapon against the vulgarity of the modern era. It's one of the few common deception that I've never used, not in my job nor in my life, and despite the millions other things that make us different, I believe that this, we have in common.”_

Joan blinks. Whatever she was expecting, that's not it.

_“So, you see, I'm not modest and I'm alone, and as I already told you not a long time ago, you've been in my mind quite a lot. Therefore, I believe this letter's going to be nowhere around decency, and yet, if I understood just a bit of you after our last encounter (as I immodestly like to think), then I don't believe you'll be offended by it at all. Actually, I think I will wait for your positive answer.”_

«You are crazy», Joan says to the empty room. And that's no news, really, but _this_ crazy? Wasn't the painting enough? What the hell is she trying to do? And what does she means with decency?

_“I like to think about your body. I picture your long legs in my mind, and I try to imagine how it would feel to slowly pull down the already wet lace panties I'd make you wear. You'd feel their silky caress along your thighs, and I'd smile seeing you blush and try to hide it.”_

Joan feels her mouth dry as if it was stuffed with dust. So she reaches out for her tea (which is just warm now, and she vaguely wonders how long it took her to read those few lines) and then she empties the mug with only one long sip.

At least she understands the decency part, now. And a quick look at the next paragraphs tells her that what she has read so far was still foreplay. 

She could stop right now, throw the letter away, take a long shower, and forget everything. But she doesn't. Instead, she keeps reading. And when she get to the last words ─ _her name_ , written in the same elegant handwriting, but just a little more tremulous, as if her hand was shaking while writing it ─ Joan finds out that she is, in fact, blushing.

And that makes her angry. 

And maybe Moriarty knew that this would have been her reaction, or maybe not, honestly Joan doesn't care. She just wants to make her feel worst. 

So she answers.

 _My dear Jamie_ , she writes, just to mock her ─ and the thrill she feels along her spine is surely due the cool air coming from the open window, she says to herself ─ then the words flow, and soon enough she has already filled two pages. 

And when Joan rereads it, she finds out (not without a little satisfaction) that Moriarty was right about one thing: modesty isn't in her nature either.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Written for the COWT#4 @maredichallenge, prompt "modesty" and for the Femslash February.  
> \- Thanks to my lovely beta nemofrommars ♥  
> \- English is not my first language, if you see any mistake please let me know, I'd appreciate it.


End file.
